Smuggling Rings and Nightmares
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: John has been living with the two Holmes boys for several weeks and Sherlock decides he might come in handy on cases. (Continuation of 'Consulting Detective and Father of One', parent!lock au.)
1. Shopping

Hamish had insisted on going to ASDA with John. He'd whined that even though it was his school's holiday, he hadn't been out of the house in days and wanted a little trip somewhere.

"It's only ASDA, I'm buying dinner. You'll be bored stiff."

"It's _something_ to do," Hamish argued, "I'm _bored_."

John had narrowed his eyes, "fine. But don't wander off. I have enough trouble controlling Sherlock."

Hamish grinned.

* * *

"_Item not scanned. Please try again._"

John groans, swiping the barcode for what felt like the twentieth time.

"C'mon," he knits his eyebrows together.

"_Item not scanned. Please try again._"

"Do you think you could keep your voice down a bit?" John hisses at the machine.

Hamish raises his eyebrows, "you're as bad as Mrs Hudson and grandmother. They refuse to use these," he takes the bag of vegetables from John and straightens out the barcode.

The machine beeps and the price appears on the screen. Hamish throws it into the bag and smiles sweetly.

John narrows his eyes, "alright, smartarse. You do the rest."

Hamish pulls the basket closer and starts scanning everything. What would have taken ten minutes for John (arguing with the machine included), takes Hamish sixty seconds. He places everything into the plastic bags and steps back to make room for John to pay.

He puts his card into the machine and waits.

And waits.

Until finally it bleeps and the screen shows, "_Card not authorised. Please remove card_."

"But I haven't done anything yet…" John frowns.

"It won't accept your card," Hamish says, stepping forward.

The machine pipes up again, "_please use alternative method of payment_."

John groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Hamish, can you wait here with the shopping for ten minutes while I run home to get some cash?"

* * *

John gets back to the flat quickly, only to be met by Sherlock's "you took your time."

"I had a row, in the shop, with a chip and pin machine," John growls.

Sherlock lowers his book slightly, "a row… with a machine?"

"Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Hamish wasn't much good either; I thought kids knew about these things. I came back for some money."

Sherlock scoffs, "did you ask Hamish?"

"What nine year old carries enough money to pay for a week's worth of shopping?"

"_My_ nine year old." Sherlock turns a page of his book, "he saves the pocket money I give him so he can buy himself things he knows I'd only get him for special occasions. He also knows how to use my card in emergencies."

John shakes his head, "of course he does. He didn't have anything with him, not even his phone."

"He's getting irresponsible," Sherlock frowns, "I told him to keep his phone with him. Take my card."

"You could have just gone yourself, you know," John says, eyeing a scratch on the kitchen table and tutting, "save me a lot of trouble."

He rummages through Sherlock's wallet and finds a card he knows the PIN number for, "what happened with that case you were offered, anyway? The Jaria Diamond?"

"Boring. I sent them a message."

John nods and goes to trot back down the stairs.

* * *

When John arrives back at the self-serve machine he waves the card, "Sherlock's," he smiles.

Hamish gives him a thumbs up, holding an open crisp packet in his other hand, making John frown.

"Should you be eating those?"

"The lady said I could eat them now as long as we pay for them," he says, stuffing a crisp in his mouth.

John rolls his eyes and picks up the bags, holding one out for Hamish, "carry this one for me."

* * *

"Don't worry about us," John mutters when they get back to the flat, "we can manage."

Hamish dumps his bag on the kitchen table and John ushers him out, starting to put everything into the cupboards.

Hamish takes a can of pop from the fridge and wanders through to the living room. He narrows his eyes when he spots a sword underneath Sherlock's chair, "dad, what-"

Sherlock puts a finger to his lips, flicking his eyes over to John, currently with his back to them, and whispers, _shh_.

Hamish nods and giggles quietly, curling into the sofa and picking up his book, while Sherlock goes back to concentrating on the laptop balanced on his knee.

Ten minutes later, John emerges with a mug of tea. He eyes both Holmeses, suspicious at their lack of noise.

"Is that my computer?"

"Of course," Sherlock says, not looking up, "mine was in the bedroom."

"It's password protected!"

Sherlock smirks, "not exactly Fort Knox."

Irritated, John snaps the laptop shut and takes it from Sherlock's lap, and shoves it under his arm chair. Sherlock narrows his eyes and moves his hands to their usual thinking position. He stays unnaturally still as John picks up and examines their post.

"Bills," he mumbles, "need to get a job."

Sherlock frowns, "dull."

Sighing, John leans forward in his chair, "listen, do you think I could… could you lend me some… are you even listening to me?"

Sherlock stands suddenly, "I need to go to the bank. Stay home Hamish, Mrs Hudson is currently baking and will no doubt want you to sample. Coming John?"

"I… okay," John nods, picking up his coat and following Sherlock out the door.


	2. The Bank

"When you said we were going to the bank…" John says, taking in his surroundings.

When John had followed Sherlock out of the taxi, he didn't think they would be going inside Tower 42. He stays on Sherlock's heel through the revolving glass doors and looks, open-mouthed, at the ceiling. Sherlock had walked them into Shad Sanderson Bank. He goes straight to one of the receptionists, John almost bumping into him, and declares himself, "Sherlock Holmes."

She looks up from her computer and points them in the direction of an office door.

Greeted at the door by, presumably, someone's secretary, Sherlock and John are taken past offices and cubicles until they reach one with the name S WILKES plastered on the door. She knocks and opens the door, holding it open and motioning for them to go inside.

The occupant of the office looks up from his desk and stands, "Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock gives him tight smile, "Sebastian."

Sebastian steps around the desk and grabs Sherlock's hand, "buddy! Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you."

Sherlock nods his head towards John, "this is my _friend_, John Watson."

Sebastian seems to notice John for the first time since they'd entered the room and gives him a curious look, "friend?"

"Partner," John smiles sweetly, taking Sebastian's hand and shaking it.

"Right," Sebastian says, glancing at Sherlock, "well," he coughs, "grab a pew, do you need anything? Coffee, water? No?" He turns to his secretary, "all sorted here, thanks."

John risks a glance at Sherlock while Sebastian is distracted, and finds him watching him carefully. John gives Sherlock a small reassuring smile. Sherlock's eyes soften for a second, but they quickly harden again as he turns back to the banker.

"You've been doing well," Sherlock says, "flying all around the world twice in a month?"

Sebastian's mouth quirks, "you're doing that thing." He turns to John, "we were at uni together, this guy had a trick he used to do. He could tell you your whole life story!"

John sees Sherlock bristle, "I've seen him do it, yes."

"Wound everybody up of course," Sebastian continues, oblivious to Sherlock's irritation, "come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night. Never saw him bring anyone in though, we thought he couldn't find anyone who wanted to shag him," he laughs, "still got that kid of yours? Hayden, was it?"

"Hamish," Sherlock corrects with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "and yes, Sebastian. Children very rarely just disappear."

Sebastian chuckles and turns to John, "Sherlock here was one of the biggest surprises at our uni graduation. We were all off to climb the ladder in banks around the city; Sherlock here turns up with a toddler tucked under his arm. We always wondered what he did outside of lectures and parties; apparently he was raising a kid. Never saw him with anyone, we just assumed he was his brother until we found out otherwise. "

Sherlock smiles tightly.

"Enlighten me. Two trips in a month, you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock starts to speak, but Sebastian goes on, smugness lacing his tone, "a stain on my tie? Or maybe the mud on my shoes?"

Sherlock blinks, "I was just talking to your secretary. She told me."

Sebastian gives a humourless laugh and claps a hand against the desk, "so! Glad you could make it. We've had a break in." He stands and shows the pair across trading floor to another office, "the bank's former chairman, it was left as a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they take?" John frowns.

Sebastian shrugs, "they didn't take anything. Left a little message."

He unlocks the door with his key card and the 'message' is immediately clear. A framed painting of a man in a suit with a yellow stripe sprayed across the eyes. Beside it, on the wall, is what appears to be a graffiti tag in the same paint.

"Follow me," Sebastian says, motioning them back to his office, "I'll show you the cctv footage."

He taps keys on his computer and brings up the video. He moves to the side to let Sherlock get a better view of the screen and presses play. It shows the empty office, the painting untouched. The camera flickers slightly and yellow paint rolls down the wall.

"Here are the stills," Sebastian pulls up two images, "sixty seconds apart."

"How many ways to get into that office?" Sherlock asks.

"That's where this gets interesting. Every door in this bank is logged in the computer, and the door to that office didn't open last night. There's a hole in our security and we'll pay you to find it. Five figures." Sebastian reaches into his pocket and takes out a cheque, "this is an advance."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "I don't need an incentive, Sebastian."

He twirls away, eyes flickering everywhere, already on the case.

John coughs, "he's kidding. Should I look after that for him?"

Sebastian hands the paper over.

* * *

When John catches up he sees Sherlock taking photos with the camera on his phone of the painting. Sherlock slowly makes his way to the window and onto the balcony. He returns quickly, obviously deciding they're too high up for the balcony to be the perpetrator's door. He watches Sherlock dance around the floor, his head occasionally popping up sporting his 'on a case' frown.

Sherlock finally comes to a halt outside an empty looking office. His eyebrows knit together and he looks between the office door and the room at the other side of the floor. He nods to himself and turns to slide the name tag from the door and stuffs it in his pocket – _Edward Van Coon_.

Apparently satisfied with his investigation he brushes past John with a quick, "come John," and leads him to the escalators.

"So," John says, "two trips around the world this month? You said that to irritate him. How did you know?"

Sherlock smirks and goes into an explanation of Sebastian's watch – how he had forgotten to alter it as he crossed the dateline, the make, the release date. He steps onto the escalator.

John smirks down at him, "do you want to sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need already. The graffiti was a message for someone working there."

"There are three hundred people working up there, who was it meant for?" John frowns.

"Pillars."

"What?"

"The pillars and screens limit visibility of the painting to certain places."

Sherlock goes into a long winded explanation of his seemingly random jumping around the floor. He talks about time zones and where the workers trade with. He completes by pulling out the piece of paper he'd taken from the office door, "not many Van Coons in the phonebook."

He tucks the paper safely away and steps into the revolving door.

"So, couldn't get a shag?" John smirks.

Sherlock gives him a sly smile, "couldn't is not the same as not wanting to John. Sebastian only knew me in uni, after my gap year. He knows nothing about what I got up to in secondary school and after uni, and I don't kiss and tell, John," he winks.

John smiles, "git."

Sherlock waves down a taxi and bundles himself into the seat, "in the beginning I wanted to keep Mary away from them, likely they'd have commented on how much better than me she could have done. After, I wanted to focus on my degree and ensure Hamish developed properly. A child's first year is very important."

"Would you be opposed to me punching Sebastian next time we see him?" John sighs, "I didn't like the way he was talking about you and Hamish."

"Feel free," Sherlock chuckles.

John smiles, "I can't work out the timeline though, how old was Hamish when you were in uni?"

"Hamish was one by the time I went into my last year. Mrs Hudson had recently returned from Florida and insisted that rather than I leave university after his mother's death, she would babysit for me. I finished my studies and started work as a consulting detective. It allowed me to work flexible hours so I could spend more time with him."

John nods, "and the um…"

"Drugs? I first discovered them when I was fifteen and came off them for the last time a few years ago, as you already know. They helped me to think clearly for a while but Hamish's wellbeing is more important."

"You put out such a cold exterior," John smiles softly, "but you really love him, don't you?"

Sherlock pulls his coat around himself, "Mycroft and our parents always told me that caring is not an advantage. They were wrong. Caring is an advantage. He can be bratty at times, but I wouldn't swap Hamish for anything."

"And what about me?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

John smirks, "do I?"

Sherlock lurches forward and presses his lips against John's. John smiles into the kiss and leans backward until his head touches the window and Sherlock is draped over the middle seat of the taxi. John wraps one hand around Sherlock's waist, pushing his coat out of the way, and the other tangles itself into the hair at Sherlock's nape. Sherlock moans into John's mouth and trails his fingers up John's thigh.

A knock on the glass partition and the taxi driver's voice startles them, "oi, not on my backseat. We're almost there."

A giggle erupts from John and he pushes Sherlock away, "was that you confessing your love for me?"

"There's very few people I can say I care about, but in the weeks you've been living with us I've found that I have come to care for you."

"Same to you, you berk," John grins, resting his hand on Sherlock's thigh and squeezing.


End file.
